


I Read It For the Articles

by Unforth



Series: Prompt Ficlets: Supernatural [106]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookshop Owner Dean, Bookshop Owner Sam, M/M, Pervert Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 07:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: When Sam watches a creeper take an issue of Playboy to the back of the shop, he's resigned to the worst.





	I Read It For the Articles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampAmber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampAmber/gifts).



> Ficlet written to the prompt: If you're still doing requests from the two trope list, I'd love to see #6 and #56 done in Sabriel (or if you'd prefer, Destiel).  
> 6: Bookshop AU. 56: Awful first meeting.

Sam knew the type. He’d recognized the furtive looks as the stranger perused the magazine racks, the covert snatching of a skin mag, the nervous over-the-shoulder looks as the man walked back through the rows of bookcases in pursuit of pseudo-privacy.

What  _was_ it with some dudes and public masturbation?

It was a damn pity, too, cause for once the creeper was totally Sam’s type: a beard and hair that made him look distinguished, well built, just tall enough that he’d be able to cradle Sam as the small spoon, just short enough that Sam could curl up around him as the big spoon.

But.

Jerking off to porn in a bookstore.

So, a disgusting creeper.

Not dating material.

With a sigh, Sam followed the guy to the back of the store. Dude almost certainly already had his dick out, but at least Sam could head things off before he had to sponge jizz off the shelves. The store was mercifully empty otherwise, and Dean was at the register. The telltale rustle of paper and swish of hand over flesh warned when Sam was getting near; he stopped at the side of the bookcase and knocked to warn the guy he was coming.

“Shit!”

Hell, even his voice was nice, light and melodious.

Sam stepped around the corner in time to see flushed flesh being stuffed back into pants. He took in the scene in an instant - the skin mag opened to two pages of solid text, a cell phone held out, and in the moment before the dude hit the phone’s button to blank the screen, Sam saw…

…himself.

“What?”

“Hey, hot stuff,” the man said with a smirk, shooting a fricken  _finger gun_  at Sam.

In a daze, Sam reached out, grabbed the phone, ignored the man’s squawked protest, and turned the screen back on.

Definitely a photo of Sam.

He looked like a goddamn Loreal model.

“What the hell?” he asked weakly.

“If you want to give me your number, you could have just offered, but now that you’ve got my phone, feel free to add it to the contacts list…”

“Were you…were you masturbating…while reading the  _articles…_ and ogling me?”

“Yeah, about that…” The man gave Sam a lecherous toe-to-head look and shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

Sam looked at the man.

Sam looked at the phone.

Sam looked at the magazine.

Sam looked at the man again.

Feeling like he was in some surreal dream -  _what am I doing, why am I doing this, it makes no sense, the guy is a pervert, he had his dick out in the Spiritualism section, he was_ reading the articles  _omg_  - Sam flicked through to the contacts and entered his number under the name “Bookstore Sam.”

He handed the phone back.

“Get out of here,” he said tiredly and trudged back to the front of the store. He didn’t glance back. There was no sound of the man following, no reply, no  _swish_ of skin on skin.

Thank God.

Dean looked up as Sam emerged from the bookshelves. “You stop the fucker?”

“Something like that,” Sam agreed. 

“Awesome.” Dean shot him a thumbs up, then grabbed Sam’s phone from the counter and shoved it his way. “You got a text.”

Fearing the worst -  _why. the. fuck. did I give him. my number._ \- Sam checked his messages.

_Text from unknown number: I knew you were a sexy moose but didn’t know you were my kinda crazy._

_Text from unknown number: When do you get out of work?_

_Text from unknown number: Wanna fuck? Or do I need to buy you dinner first?_

_Text to unknown number: Dinner first._

_Text from unknown number: Aw, playing hard to get?_

_Text to unknown number: And what’s your name?_

_Text from unknown number: Gabe._

_Text to unknown number: Nice to meet you, Gabe. Get the fuck out of our store._

_Text to unknown number: And meet me at 8 at the Roadhouse._

An elated crow resounded through the room.

“I thought you said you stopped him,” scolded Dean.

“No, I said I did something like stopping him,” Sam replied. Gabe scurried by, grinning, and waved coyly at Sam as he walked by. “We’re going on a date.”

Dean looked at Gabe, looked at Sam, and shook his head. “You got shit taste, bitch.”

“At least I’m getting laid tonight, jerk.”

“…touche…”

 


End file.
